


Pathetic

by Anuschja



Series: Pic-Fic Challenge [4]
Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, I got nothing, I just started writing and this came out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:00:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1463455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuschja/pseuds/Anuschja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This one isn't really about Jeremy or one of his characters.<br/>The pic just hit close to home and I went with it.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Pathetic

**Author's Note:**

> This one isn't really about Jeremy or one of his characters.  
> The pic just hit close to home and I went with it.

 

“ _Pathetic!!_ ”  
The expression of happiness on his face turns into one of confusion.  
“Yes, I'm talking about you,” I say in the coldest, most distant tone I can manage.  
“You're such a pathetic creature, lying here in your hospital bed, kept alive by machines with no effort on your part, unable to speak or move. I deserve better, don't you agree?”  
His face transforms again. From confusion to lost, kicked puppy. A puppy I kicked and have to keep kicking. I almost give in, I don't want to do this. But I have to, for both our sakes. I get back my resolve by remembering what his doctors told me this morning.  
They’d gotten the infection under control, but it had taken a toll. His chances were 50:50 and he wasn't fighting hard enough to tip the scales in his favor. He wasn't fighting at all.  
What a load of crap, I thought.  
But maybe they were right, so I called my therapist. She's good, I should know, I've burned through enough of them over the last ten years. She said fighting would improve his chances greatly. A handful of questions later, she said he'd definitely need a push.  
And that's where my predicament starts. In the time we've been together, I’ve learned one thing about him. He gives up easily when things don't go his way. My loving words of encouragement never helped. The only times he fought for what he wanted, when he was determined enough to jump over his own shadow, was when he got riled up and enraged. Then I could see a fire burn deep in his eyes, a fire that would spread through his veins, a fire that gave him fuel to go after whatever he wanted.  
But to get him there, I know have to break him first, by taking away what he fought very hard to get: ME.  
While I hurl insults at him (he’s pathetic, he doesn’t deserve me), I strengthen my resolve by letting my mind wander ten years back. To another man lying in a hospital bed. Another man I loved. Karsten. My Karsten. He was in a coma, but the doctors said he might hear me. So I went to the hospital every day for weeks. At first, I talked to him about my day or read from the newspaper. In the end, I was begging him to come back to me. He was pronounced brain-dead, they pulled the plug. And I was alone.  
It took me almost a decade until I allowed myself to love again. Now this man I love is also lying in a hospital bed, unwilling to fight. So I let my string of insults rain down on him until his face transforms again. I can't quite place his expression, but I can see the fire building in his eyes and I know my plan succeeded.  
I spit out a last  _pathetic_  and leave, never to return.  
I'm already booked on a red-eye to leave this continent. The rest is up to him and my lawyer. I've given specific instructions. If he dies, I left funeral directions and enough cash to cover the costs. If he lives, he’ll receive the cash, an envelope with a plane ticket, and a note that simply says,  _I love you, come home_.  
The rest is up to him.  
  
I’ve held my breath for three full months. I’m exhausted, nearly broken, when I look up one day, and he is there, that fire in his eyes, that smirk on his face.  
“Pathetic?” he asks slyly.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and/or comments are most welcome.


End file.
